


What I Want, You've Got, But it Might be Hard to Handle

by jacksonstilinskis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, M/M, hairdresser au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksonstilinskis/pseuds/jacksonstilinskis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: WRITE ABOUT JACKSON THE SASSY HAIRDRESSER AND STILES HIS “OOPS-I-TOTALLY-GOT-GUM-STUCK-IN-MY-HAIR-AND-TRIED-TO-FIX-IT-MYSELF-CUSTOMER”</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://stilinskiwhittemores.tumblr.com/tagged/stackson-week">Stackson Week</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Want, You've Got, But it Might be Hard to Handle

Jackson has had it with today.

Lydia’s working the front desk today, and she’s still mad at him over their breakup, so she’s been giving all the walk-ins to him on top of his appointments. All. Day. Long. 

He’s so tired and sick of peoples’ shit he’s going to scream. With his regulars, it’s fine, because they all know him and understand that he’s not big on talking. But all these randoms Lyd’s throwing at him have been chatting him into a coma, and it’s taken everything he has not to start a fight with paying customers. 

So when closing time finally rolls around, Jackson’s never been more relieved in his life. He’s packing up his things when suddenly someone comes crashing through the front door. 

The guy looks frantic; he’s panting as he walks up to the front desk.

"Shit, are you guys closed?" he asks.

Lydia looks up from her magazine, grinning at him.

"Absolutely not! Jackson here can take care of you," she says, still smiling like she’s never been happier. She probably hasn’t.

"Lydia, _no,_ ” Jackson intervenes, because he can’t take any more of this. Not today. “Look, I’m sorry, sir, but we _are_ closed—”

"Ah ah ah," Lydia shushes him. "It’s only…" she pauses to turn her computer screen so that it’s facing him. "6:58. So. Not closed."

Jackson glares at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

"Lock up on your way out!" she says cheerfully, grabbing her purse from under the counter and walking out the door. 

"I’m Stiles," the guy offers once she’s gone.

"Jackson," he says through gritted teeth. "Follow me."

"Look, I’m sorry about this. I would leave and come back when you’re actually open, but it’s kind of an emergency," Stiles says as he sits down in Jackson’s chair. 

"Perfect," Jackson mutters, barely suppressing an eye roll. "So, what’s the emergency?"

Stiles has a beanie on, so whatever damage there is, Jackson can’t see it yet.

"I, um…there was an incident," Stiles supplies, slowly pulling off the beanie. "With gum."

Jackson just stares, gaping. This guy’s hair is a _wreck._

"I may have tried to fix it myself," Stiles adds sheepishly. 

"Yeah, I can see that," Jackson says. He doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.

"So…can you fix it?"

"Probably not," Jackson admits, shaking his head. "If you hadn’t gone and butchered it, I probably could have, but I think we’re just gonna have to buzz it."

Stiles sighs, defeated. “I was afraid of that. Well, alright. Do your worst.”

Jackson nods, hoping to God that’s the end of the conversation. 

"I bet you’re wondering how this happened," Stiles says, not even a minute later.

Of course.

"Not really," Jackson says, bluntly, because he doesn’t have the energy to fake any more politeness tonight.

"So glad you asked," Stiles continues, steamrolling right over him. "This would be the handiwork of my best friend’s darling daughter. And by darling, I mean evil."

"Mmm," Jackson hums, focusing on Stiles’ hair and thanking his lucky stars that buzz cuts are fast. 

"Yeah, I mean, I love Vicky. I do. But they let her get away with everything. Especially Scott. She takes ‘terrible twos’ to a whole new level."

Jackson raises a brow. “What was a two year old doing with gum?” he asks, surprising himself. 

"It was _my_ gum. She took it out of my mouth and before I could do anything…well, you know where it ended up,” he says gravely, like it’s the end of the world. 

Jackson snorts.

Stiles goes on about his adventures of babysitting the kid, but honestly, Jackson tunes it out. Stiles isn’t bad - kind of funny, actually - but he’s reached his limit for the day. He can’t listen to any more anecdotes from the lives of people he doesn’t even know. He can’t do it.

He’s never been so happy to finish a haircut.

"Okay, done," he says, cutting Stiles off mid-sentence like the asshole he is.

Stiles looks into the mirror and whistles.

"Woah. I haven’t worn my hair like this since high school," he says, running a hand over it. "Weird."

"Yeah, crazy," Jackson mutters, voice dripping sarcasm. "Everything good, though?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles says, standing. "I know you wanna get out of here, sorry."

Jackson doesn’t say anything, just walks him back to the front desk. 

He rings him up, and then his phone buzzes in his pocket. His roommate Danny’s calling him, probably to ask why he isn’t home with their pizza yet.

"Do you mind if I take this?" he asks Stiles, holding his phone up.

"Sure, man, go ahead."

He makes it quick; he tells Danny it’ll be another half hour or so and that he better not complain because he’s not in the mood, and promptly hangs up. 

"Sorry about that," he says, walking back to the counter. 

"No problem," Stiles says, holding both his money and the little manilla envelope they use for tips out for Jackson to take. "Hey, thanks for staying late."

"Sure," Jackson says, shrugging. "Have a good one."

"Yeah, you too," Stiles says, waving a hand before walking out the door.

When Jackson’s done putting all his supplies away and heading out, he opens the envelope. There’s a crisp $5 bill in there, but there’s also a slip of paper. He pulls it out and unfolds it, brows furrowed. It’s what he assumes is Stlies’ phone number, written sloppily on a piece of the salon stationery. 

He doesn’t know what makes him do it, but he pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends a text to the number.

_You’re a shitty tipper._

The reply is almost instantaneous.

_You’re a shitty listener._

 

A month later, Stiles comes back and asks for Jackson. 

His hair’s grown out quite a bit; Jackson can’t say it’s not nice sans gum. 

"Hey," Stiles greets him, grinning. 

"Hey. Look, I’m sorry about what an ass I was last time," Jackson says, because despite popular belief, he does have manners. 

"Yeah, you were definitely in fine form," Stiles says, chuckling. "Just a trim, by the way."

Jackson nods, keeps talking as he starts on Stiles’ hair. 

"Yeah, it was a bad day. Lydia - the girl who was at the front desk - she was out to get me that day. I did more haircuts in that one day than I usually do in three."

Stiles whistles. “Damn. What’d you do to piss her off?”

Jackson usually avoids talking about himself to customers at all costs, but something about Stiles makes him want to answer all his questions. 

"We, uh…we dated, for awhile. She wasn’t happy when we broke up," he says. 

"Ouch," Stiles offers, giving him an apologetic look in the mirror. "You didn’t make some douchebag move, like cheating, or anything, did you?"

"No, no," Jackson says. "Nothing like that. But I kind of, um…had the epiphany that I wasn’t exactly straight."

"Oh, man."

"Yeah," Jackson says, chuckling nervously. "It was awkward, to say the least. She thought I’d been stringing her along the whole time, or something, but I wasn’t, I swear. I had no idea, and then one day I just…did."

Stiles nods. Jackson uses a hand to stop him, hold his head in place.

"Sorry," Stiles mutters. "I get it, though. It’s not always something you know. Sometimes you have to figure it out."

He sounds like he’s speaking from experience, but Jackson can’t bring himself to ask about it. He just nods. 

They talk throughout the entire haircut, mostly Stiles asking Jackson questions about his life, and Jackson actually finds that he doesn’t hate it. 

He walks Stiles to the front, rings him up, and checks him out, which definitely doesn’t fall under his job description. Lydia’s not working today, but Erica gives him a knowing smile. 

"Alright, so, I’ll see you in a month, then?" he asks Stiles.

"See you then," Stiles nods. "And, hey, for the record? When I gave you my phone number, I was kind of thinking you could use it."

Stiles doesn’t wait for a response, just waves and goes on his way.

Erica elbows Jackson in the ribs, grinning. 

"He’s cute," she says. 

"He’s…the complete opposite of me," Jackson amends.

"Hey, that’s what makes the best couples. Like me and Isaac," she says, a dopey grin spreading across her face like it does every time she talks about Isaac. 

Jackson just rolls his eyes and tells her he’s taking his lunch break.

 

A couple days later, he sends Stiles a picture from Zac Efron’s latest photoshoot and says _Wanna try this on you._

He gets two messages in response. 

_Jesus Christ, I thought this was a sext before I opened the picture._

_The hair, though. Right. Okay. Copying Zac’s a little ambitious, don’t you think?_

Jackson splutters a little at the first message, but does his best to shake it off.

_You could pull it off,_ he sends back, because it’s true. 

He gets a _Thanks. ;)_ in response.

 

Stiles calls him that weekend. 

"Let’s go on a date," he says.

"I…what?"

"You, me, the new Christopher Nolan movie," Stiles says matter-of-factly. "Pick me up at 8:00."

"Okay," Jackson says, stunned to silence.

"Perfect. I’ll text you my address," Stiles says, then hangs up.

 

So they go see Interstellar, and it’s insanely good. Probably one of the best Jackson’s ever seen.

"That movie was kind of a ridiculous cockblock, you know," Stiles says once they’re out of the theater and walking to the car.

"How so?" Jackson asks, looking at Stiles questioningly.

"The whole reason I asked you to see a movie with me is so we could make out during it, but it was too good to look away. It ruined my plans," he huffs, like the world has never been so unfair. 

Jackson grins, shoving him against the wall of the theater. “There’s still time,” he says, going in for a kiss.

Twenty minutes later, mall security comes and pulls them apart from each other. They walk to the car hand in hand, hair disheveled and grins on their faces.

 

"So, I feel like it’s about time I come clean," Stiles says while Jackson’s giving him his Efron-esque haircut. 

"About?"

"How we met."

Jackson pauses, looking at him in the mirror. “What are you talking about? We met because you were stupid enough to think you could get gum out of your hair by yourself.”

"Well, yeah, but…no," Stiles says, and Jackson’s not getting any less confused.

"Stiles," he warns.

"Okay, well, funny story…one of your regulars actually set us up. Indirectly, that is. She knew you wouldn’t go for it if she asked you straight up, so she told me I was gonna have to get your attention."

Jackson just stares in disbelief. “Who?”

"Allison. McCall," he says. "Best friend’s wife."

Now that Jackson thinks about it, it dawns on him that, yeah. Allison has a husband named Scott and a kid named Victoria. 

"I’m gonna kill her," he mutters, shaking his head. "So the gum…?"

"Self-inflicted. A necessary evil."

Jackson doesn’t even know what to say. He settles on “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Stiles shrugs. “Ally said you were worth it. She’s never wrong.”

Jackson smiles. Maybe he won’t kill her.

 

A year later, Jackson’s still cutting Stiles’ hair, but now it’s on their bathroom floor on lazy Sunday mornings, both of them still shirtless and distracted by kisses.


End file.
